Common Puff-Ball : Leonie Ewing
Two Bird Poems
Roosting aloft
At ebb of day
a fleet of swifts
dark, sleek, fork-ruddered
silently rise, cruise thermals
ride gentle airstreams, turbulent waves
napping, yet mindful of wind-shift, drift and speed
star-anchored, first to see bursting dawn
circling on high till streets awake −
descending a mile of empty sky
down, down, then swoop
like screaming pirates
invade our town.
Hi cuckoo!
Welcome back, nomad
from Congo forests, deserts,
sunny deltas, plains.
Barbara Meanrs
Family posession prompt ;
page 2 of a Love letter from a soldier in the Near East in WW2.
Are you still cooking for the Yanks, darling? I think about food a lot and try not to be jealous that you are feeding them. There is a good bit of malaria and sand-fly fever here. Some of the chaps are being moved up the desert soon. I don't suppose there's any chance of anything happening to me but if it does I hope you have a wonderful and fulfilling life. Get married, have children, just as we thought to.
The days go rushing on in other places, war is being fought on all fronts but here. Our days are slow; we lie in idle groups, waiting...watch streams of ants move sand... I so need to see holly berries and hold you, your cheeks polished red as you drop into my arms from the top of the stile up by Howe Wood.
If you feel lonely just close your eyes and I’ll be there, my darling...remember every night I hold you in my arms and dream it's the end of this bloody mess.
A mix of family fact and my fiction.
Steph Newham.
Poppy Dance
Red carpet shimmers in heat
Breeze sends waves curtseying
Over a thousand fragile petals
Ripe corn plays a gold counterpoint;
Unmoved by beauty mice climb
Begin their yearly harvest
Among silent ears;
Sheltered in scarlet shade
From hawk’s hungry gaze,
Betrayed by stillness
As breeze departs,
Movement where no movement should be
Brings death to cornfield’s heart,
Flowers dance a funeral measure,
Hawk lifts his prey above poppies.
Anne Micklethwaite
Porcelain Fingus - Leonie Ewing
Shared Table
They visit the restaurant
Sharing table
In harmony
The rounded red chest of the chaffie
Who is friend of the robin
Who tolerates the tits
Who respects
The dinner-jacketed nuthatch.
The sun shines and catches colour
As they flit from one group to another
And then
The local gang appears
Rupturing this gently active peace
In a flurry of iridescent wing
The greedy starling and his mates
Bombastically barge in
The first diners hide in nearby tree
Waiting
Waiting
To hear the clap of hand
They know will come
And off go the blue tinged bully boys
At least six, and sometimes seven.
Have they left anything to eat?
They all flock back to see
Jane Richardson
They all look the same.
We've said it many times.
With their silly clothes
even when it's hot,
their umbrellas in the rain.
Improbable legs.
it has the gist.
Seth Crook
'What's that behind me ?' - Seth Crook
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